


Assassins Need Glasses, Too

by bowlingfornerds



Category: The 100
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, assassin!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4806632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘My apologies, upon closer inspection it turns out that you are not the person I was hired to kill.’ AU</p><p>A cute mini-fic about an assassin and the wrong target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assassins Need Glasses, Too

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I'm aware that in real life, this situation would be entirely different. Please, just suspend your belief for a moment, so you can read me getting over writers block.
> 
> I have a MASSIVE LOVE for criminal AUs, so I think you should expect some more from now on. Also, there might be a second part on the way. I can't be sure.

“My apologies,” the man told Clarke, lowering his arm and clicking the safety back on, on his gun. “Upon closer inspection, it turns out that you are not the person I was hired to kill.” Clarke stared dumbly back for a moment, before narrowing her eyes.

“What sort of assassin are you if you can’t even tell your targets apart?” She questioned, moving herself away from the wall in which he’d cornered her to. He shrugged.

“I need glasses.” He turned away after that, and Clarke watched his back retreat down the hallway. She’d almost been killed. She had almost been _killed_ … by a guy who needed _glasses_. And while every fibre of her being was telling her that following him would be a terrible idea, she couldn’t help herself.

“Wait,” she called, jogging after him. The assassin glanced over to her, confused, sticking the gun back into his jacket. He was, for a killer, particularly attractive. But Clarke was trying to push that thought away from her mind, because, well, he was a killer. “Who _was_ your target then?”

The man scoffed, looking away, amused. “You think I’m just going to tell you the name of my target?” She shrugged.

“Well, it’s got to be someone who looks like me, right?” She continued, and eyed him carefully as they continued to weave through the maze of hallways that made up the Chancellor’s mansion. “So, blonde hair, blue eyes?” She wrinkled up her nose in thought, running her mind over the guest list that her mother had drilled into her in the days beforehand – Abby Griffin was _not_ having another circumstance in which Clarke stared dumbly at important people she should know the names of, trying to figure them out.

With the names had come pictures, and Clarke had a photographic memory. It didn’t take her long to place the two together.

“Diana Sydney,” she announced happily, looking up at the man again. He was a head taller than her, dressed in a suit and tie like all the other guests, reminding her of a criminal James Bond (although, she’d always thought that with the amount of murders Mr. Bond had caused, he could also be seen as the villain). James Bond-esque man froze in his steps for a moment, eyeing her carefully. Clarke shrugged with a smile. “She’s the only other blonde on the guest list.”

He just sighed, continuing to walk. Clarke wondered what type of assassin he was; walking around without a mask, with so many cameras on him and then messing up his only target. (That she knew of.) She actually voiced this, too.

“I’m good,” he promised her. “I’ve been doing this for long enough.”

“Were you the one who killed Ricky Shaw?” She asked, interested. He shook his head.

“No.”

“Okay, what about Anya Burrows?”

“No.”

“Um, Sil Shumway?”

“No.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Even if I had been the one to kill them, I would have still said no,” he added, barely looking at her. Clarke nodded, pursing her lips and running her fingers down the fabric of her dress. She had almost died, minutes before, and she didn’t feel as afraid as she should have. Really, it felt comical to her. This was an assassin in dire need of glasses, who noticed right before pulling the trigger that Clarke was the wrong person.

It was interesting though, how he’d managed to get her into such a secluded part of Chancellor Jaha’s house. He’d smiled at her a lot, wandering over eventually, and Clarke couldn’t help but follow him when he jerked his head with a smirk towards a dark hallway.

The kissing that had come before him pulling a gun on her had been some of the best she’d ever experienced, and there was a niggling in the back of Clarke’s mind that it would be better, if this man hadn’t been thinking about how he was about to kill her, the entire time.

Her thoughts were put on hold, though, when he turned to her.

“We’re about to go back into the party,” he informed her. “And you’re not going to say a word.” Clarke raised an eyebrow.

“You think you can control me?” She asked, resting a hand on her hip. The man lifted the fabric of his jacket, revealing his gun to her, and Clarke’s eyes flickered from the weapon to his face.

“I think I can,” he replied, lowly. “Now, I’m here to do a job, and you’re not going to stand in the way, got it?” Clarke narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re going to kill Diana Sydney and assume that I won’t warn anyone? I’ve seen your face, mister, I could turn you in.” It was his turn to raise an eyebrow now.

“Oh, really? A lot of me doubts you’ll do that.” She scoffed.

“And why’s that?”

“With Diana Sydney dead, I’ll have enough money to take you out to dinner.” Her eyes widened just a fraction, watching a smirk appear on his face, and the man stepping away from the closed distance they’d formed. When she didn’t respond, he nodded, turning and walking down the hallway and back into the atrium.

“Must be some expensive restaurant,” Clarke mused, following after slowly.

The next day, on the news, Diana Sydney was announced dead. Clarke found a business card in her clutch, with only a phone number and a name printed across it. She had no doubt of who it belonged to.

_Bellamy Blake._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Make sure you click the kudos and bookmark buttons. Also, I love ALL the comments you guys write on my work and I'd love to see some more! Thanks!
> 
> EDIT: as a second thought, I have no idea if Clarke just let a woman die so she could go out on a date with Bellamy. Absolutely no clue at all. Let's not question it.


End file.
